


Spanksgiving

by batsaboutbats, meaninglessblah



Series: Let's Play A Love Game [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Spanking, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21582976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsaboutbats/pseuds/batsaboutbats, https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Thanksgiving Spinoff fic forLet's Play A Love Game. Happens outside the investigation in the Main Fic, where Tim and Jason still work at the Daily O. Gobble gobble ;)
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Let's Play A Love Game [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532045
Comments: 4
Kudos: 141





	Spanksgiving

Bruce had always made a big deal about Thanksgiving when they were younger, decking out the Manor is bright amber and ochre to herald in the holiday season. Dick had seemed keen on the tradition, but Tim suspects that was largely due to the buffet of pumpkin- and harvest-themed dishes Alfred always laid out. Hand-stuffed roast turkey, green bean casserole with a smattering of fried julienne onions, and creamy mashed potatoes with thick gravy. Tim always feels like he’s going to burst by the time they get around to the pecan pie, but it would be sacrilegious not to save room for Alfred’s signature dish. 

They’d gone to special effort for Damian’s first Thanksgiving, welcoming him into the household with a veritable cornucopia of holiday cheer. Alfred had even gone to the trouble of hunting down an authentic recipe for kar assaly, and the look of adoration on Damian’s sharp, angry little features had been entirely worth the hours Tim had spent slaving over a whisk and bowl under Alfred’s patient supervision. 

Now that Tim splits most of his time between the penthouse and San Francisco, he rarely finds a minute to spend at the Manor. He’d spent the holidays last year with the Titans, assembling an obtuse-looking Christmas tree far too early than was called for. Thanksgiving itself had been spent throwing back coffee on a skyscraper overlooking the smoldering city, after they’d finished dispatching with some impromptu intergalactic travellers intent on making San Fran their next homebase. 

So it’s been a while since Tim shared in the proper Thanksgiving spirit. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting from the Daily-O, but he’s definitely not disappointed. Yolanda, as usual, had gone all out with her themed decorations, decking every dancer out in a uniquely horrendous holiday-themed outfit. Tim can't help but be swept up in her enthusiasm. And some of the specialty shows had been fun. 

Yolanda performs her signature burlesque dance with a pair of giant turkey-feather fans, strutting coyly about the stage and flashing her red-yellow-and-orange turkey-hand nipple pasties. Blue follows it up with a far less sultry and far more hilarious version of shucking corn, peeling her leafy green layers down to a truly eye-wateringly yellow bubble suit reminiscent of Lady Gaga circa 2009. Charla rolls out a delicious selection of one-time-only cocktails, and her Pumpkin Spice Mules and Pumpkin Pie Pudding Shots keep the queen run off her feet all night. 

Then they’d had the affectionately named ‘Spanksgiving Parade’. Tim had lined up next to Twinka and the other servers to lean his elbows up on the stage, ass presented for the handful of VIPs who had paid to have the honour of walking down the line and kicking off the main event of the night. 

Tim’s ass had been smarting a little by the end of it, when he’d retrieved his tray and gone about shuffling out Spiced Pumpkin Martinis at a rapid clip. It’s when he’s bending over with a beaming smile to set a round of shots on the table of a bunch of exceptionally plastered PTA moms that Tim realises it’s only the start of his night. 

Because a man in an obnoxiously oversized pilgrims hat leans over the back of his booth to crack a hand down over the curve of Tim’s behind, making him jolt forwards with a yelp. It catalyses a round of slaps from the hoard of drunk mothers, and by the end Tim’s cheeks are as red as his ass is. He slips away to the bar as soon as he’s able, nestling up against Twinka, who leans back to take a look, and smirks. 

“Fun night, right?” he says with a twist of sarcasm as Charla loads up his tray. Twinka twists to offer Tim a glance at his own ass, visible through the transparent back of his own shorts. It’s bright pink, a particularly vicious handprint spread over the left cheek. “It’s the festivities; part of the allure of Spanksgiving is you get to handle the goods. But,” he adds, and scoops one of the shoots up off his tray, throwing it back to a disapproving cluck from Charla, “the alcohol helps numb it a bit, and Yolanda gives all us servers freebies, so. Great tips tonight too. Could be worse.” 

He sways his hips a little as he pushes up off the bar, offering Tim a wink as he scoops up his tray. Tim tries not to stare after his ass, and resists the urge to cover his own, on display in the clear plastic window of his high-waisted shorts. All the servers are wearing the same outfit tonight, on display for the patrons as they bustle around maintaining the holiday cheer. 

Tim’s barely had a chance to see Jason the whole night; between ferrying drinks to tables and weathering the spanks that catch him off guard no matter how many times it happens. 

It’s mostly lovetaps, shy little pats of his ass that Tim barely notices, much less acknowledges, other than to offer a charming smile. But every few tables someone lands a spank that makes the heat flare up the curve of Tim’s spine, and when he glances back down at his pants, his cheeks are hot and red where they press up against the cloying transparent plastic. 

At one point during the night, he sees Twinka get bent over a table, a hand between his shoulder blades as stream of pledges line up to leave their mark, the smack of their palms against his skin audible over the hooting and hollering. Twinka takes it all with a bare-toothed smile while Tim watches on with a slack jaw. His painted nails bite into the wood of the table, flinching with each slap like it’s taking all his willpower not to bite each one of the pledges’ fingers off. When he stands and beams at the frat leader, the guy slips him a cool two hundred. Twinka sashays away with only the barest wince, pocketing it, and mouths, “_Holy fuck” _ at Tim as he passes, tray in hand. 

Tim’s silently grateful nothing of the sort happens to him, but Twinka seems exceptionally cheery when he counts up his tips for the night, babbling excitedly as he leans up on Domi. The taller man presses a kiss into the crown of his head as Twinka bemoans the absence of his mother’s arroz con gandules, but soothes when Domi reminds him of the feast that awaits them at Domi’s parents’ small apartment. 

“You got plans, Teddy?” Twinka asks, reaching back to wind fingers into Domi’s blonde locks as he not-so-surreptitiously fondles the server’s ass. 

Tim shrugs and flashes them a grin. “A quiet night in, probably. I’m looking forward to a Thanksgiving sans Arkham breakout.” 

Twinka snorts and pockets his haul, pushing off the bar as he takes Domi’s hand. “Make sure you do something nice,” he instructs with uncharacteristic solemnity. “And don’t forget to give thanks for something. That’s the point, right?” 

“I will. You two have fun,” Tim says, and farewells them as they head for the door, reaching for another glass to dry as Charla ducks backstage to help Blue wrestle her way out of her outfit. 

* * *

Tim groans, kicking his heels off haphazardly as he slumps back onto their bed. And arches with a muted cry, his behind flaring with sharp agony at the contact. He rolls onto his stomach with a tired moan, letting his eyelids slip closed as he inhales the smell of fresh linen beneath him. 

He’s so tired, he could fall asleep right now, nestled into the bedsheets, ass cooling in the chilled November air. Only… 

“Jay?” Tim calls when the shower snaps off, the hiss of water dying as Tim cracks an eye and twists his head towards the lit ensuite. 

“Yeah?” Jason calls, the sounds of rummaging filtering out of the cracked door. He’d gotten off an hour earlier with all the other dancers, slipping straight into the shower like he usually does when he gets home before Tim. 

Tim lets his wordless groan rise loud enough for Jason to hear him, brow pinching as he closes his eyes again. Jason seems to understand, because he hears a bubble of laughter bounce off the tile. 

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he promises, and Tim slumps into the sheets, lips curling contentedly at the thought of his big warm space heater draped over him. Barely any time passes before he hears the pad of Jason’s bare feet on the carpet, a towel scrubbing roughly through his hair. “Sorry, babe, I’m here now. Just had to get the glitter off-” 

When he lapses into stunned silence, Tim cracks an eyelid again, glancing back to where Jason’s paused at the foot of the bed, wide eyes glued to Tim’s bright red ass. Then they flatten and darken, the towel discarded immediately on the corner of the mattress in a daze. Tim groans, because he knows that look, and tries to turn his offending behind out of sight. 

Jason steps forward before he can escape, a huge broad palm layering down over the small of Tim’s back to pin him to the bedcovers. The other reaches over his head to turn on the bedside lamp, and then there’s a sharp, appreciative inhale. 

“That’s a new look,” Jason croaks, but it sounds a little winded. Tim squirms beneath his grip, half-twisting and pillowing his head on his outstretched arm to keep Jason in sight. He looks ravenous in the low light, gaze dragging appreciatively over Tim’s smarting behind. 

“Spanksgiving,” Tim reminds him with a lazy curl of a smile, “was a real _ hit_.” 

“I’ll say,” Jason breathes, hands snaking around Tim’s hips. He moans softly as Jason props him up onto his knees, head still down in the covers. The motion pulls the pants firm over his ass, making it burn hotter as Tim exhales, sluggish. “Is that a handprint?” 

“Mmm,” Tim mumbles, curling his hands in the bedsheets as Jason trails his fingers down the outsides of his legs, tickling beneath the edge of his shorts. They lift to trace the inflamed joint of thigh and ass, and Tim sucks in a breath and shudders beneath the flare of mixed sensation. “Probably.” 

Jason sounds like he’s on the precipice of breaking down and just worshipping Tim’s ass. The heel of a blessedly cool hand slides over Tim’s abdomen, fingers playing with the button of Tim’s shorts as the smaller man sighs and arches. “Gonna have to give me a better look at that, Timbers.” 

He shivers when Jason drags the shorts down over his hips, his palm curling around each of Tim’s knees to ease him out of them one leg at a time. Tim flops back down on the covers once he’s free, whimpering at the bite of the chilled air against his abused flesh. 

Jason’s doesn’t wait to set him back up on his knees, but keeps his hands wrapped around Tim’s hips this time, thumbs stroking lightly over the heat. Tim bucks at the reflexive pain with a soft, bitten off shout, mewling into the covers when Jason leans down over him. 

“Holy shit,” Jason breathes, running a line of kisses down the line of Tim’s spine. Tim whines when he reaches the top of his ass, lips brushing the inflamed skin. “You’re hot as a fuckin’ sauna, babe.” 

Tim curls his fingers in the sheets, pulling himself up the bed slightly when he arches, Jason’s breath ghosting over his cheeks, the eddies making him shudder and cant forwards. He realises with a dizzying rush that he’s half-hard already, pinned between Jason’s grip on his sides. 

“Jay,” he moans, lips dragging over the linen. 

“Shh,” Jason whispers, pressing his mouth to the apex of Tim’s left cheek, the skin flaring at the contact. “I got you, babe. Gonna take good care of you, Timbers.” 

The larger man rubs his thumbs into the joints of Tim’s hips, coaxing him back into the curved present. His lips brush over the overheated skin, and Tim’s entire behind flares at the contact. He melts into the sheet with a few harsh pants, swimming in the sensation as Jason thoroughly kisses the reddened flesh. 

Then Jason presses his thumbs into the meat of his cheeks, making Tim arch with pleasured pain under those two points of contact as Jason spreads him. 

“God, _ Jay,_” Tim chokes. Jason leans forward and drags his tongue over Tim’s hole, holding him steady when he yelps and sobs and cants forward. He does it again, lathering him as Tim adjusts to the sensation of the slick muscle against his heated skin, teasing him with every pass. 

It’s maddening, and Tim whines, grinding his stiff cock against the sheets as Jason prods gently at his hole, sucking lightly on the rim. He twists beneath Jason’s steady grip, reaching a hand back to thread through his hair, yank at the strands as the man teases him. 

Jason laughs at his desperation, and Tim keens beneath the vibrations. The sound hitches up into a breathless gasp when Jason presses in with his tongue, spearing him. He pulls Tim back as he does, licking deeper as Tim writhes and squirms. His hands clench reflexively on the sheets, unable to get a decent purchase as Jason sets up a rhythm, fucking into him with his tongue. 

“Jay, Jay, Jay,” Tim croons, lost to the conflicting feeling of that slick muscle between his thighs and his smarting ass. Jason hums at his name, his tempo increasing as Tim hitches into a short, soft shout. 

He can feel his gut coiling, that heat spreading down his legs and pooling in the core of him as Tim shoves back into Jason’s face, urging him deeper. 

When Jason pulls off him with a gasp of air, Tim nearly cries at the loss. Then there’s the steady press of a single digit against his fluttering hole, and Tim’s breath catches as Jason eases his finger deep enough to curl all the way into him. 

He moves slowly, letting Tim adjust to the girth and the friction - longer than Tim _ needs, _when he’s burning up this fast - so Tim yanks impatiently at his hair the second Jason’s knuckle brushes the skin of his ass. Then that tongue’s returning to slick him up, Tim whining under the dual sensation of that finger curling inside him and Jason’s mouth on him, hot and wet. 

Jason shifts his grip, spearing him deeper until his fingertip grazes Tim’s prostate. The smaller man jerks with a yelp, and Jason hones in on it, massaging deep and bruising as Tim shakes himself up into a trembling landslide. 

“Fuck, Jay, Jay-” Tim chokes out, rocking back onto his tongue as Jason works him to a crescendo. “Fuck, I can’t, I’m so, I’m gonna-” 

Jason reaches around, his palm coarse and warm on the front of Tim’s trembling thigh as he squeezes once. Then he wraps it around Tim’s cock, and Tim _ yells. _

It doesn’t take more than a few strokes before Tim’s bowing and coming, hips held back against Jason’s tongue and finger as he milks Tim through his orgasm. The world blurs around the edges, softening as Tim’s yell subsides to gasping sobs, and then Jason eases out of him. 

He collapses as Jason’s slides his tongue out, licking once at his rim as he departs. Tim shudders beneath the onslaught, legs like jelly as Jason shifts to wind an arm under his hips and lower him down to a clean patch of bed. 

It takes a while for Tim to come down from the high, everything muted and soft as he bathes in the last dregs of his orgasm. He’s aware of Jason cleaning him gently with the discarded towel, propping Tim up briefly before he lays him back down again. Then the bed dips with his weight, and Tim groans as Jason angles him against the line of his body, leaving his sore ass bared to the cold air. 

After a few minutes of blessed, warm silence, Tim angles his mouth away from the mattress and mumbles, “These were clean sheets.” 

Jason mouths at the side of his neck, teeth scraping his jawline. “You’re welcome.” 

Tim huffs and smiles, turning until he can meet Jason’s lips in a slow, smoldering kiss. “Thank you, Jay,” he breathes when he pulls back, and grins beneath the heat of Jason’s adoring smile. 

“Happy Thanksgiving, baby.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're having a rough start to your holiday season, I hope this cheers you up! 
> 
> [Batsaboutbats](https://linktr.ee/batsaboutbats).   
[Meaninglessblah](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah).


End file.
